


Seasons

by Isavuu



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Medical Conditions, Mild Angst, Neighbors, Single Parent Steve, Slow Burn, modern!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-04 20:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13372044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isavuu/pseuds/Isavuu
Summary: Girl Next Door trope meets Single Dad!AUJourney throughout the seasons for you and Steve to realize how much you need each other.Even if you don't like single parent AUs, this one is really good and you should give it a chance!





	1. Spring

The faint smell of tomato sauce and garlic bread clings to the air. You stand in front of a soap filled sink in a kitchen that is not your own. After loading the last dish into the drying rack, you fill the tomato crusted pot with water to ‘let it soak.’ The meticulous man who owns this kitchen would be annoyed if he was present, but he’s not, so you can do as you please. Tossing the damp dishrag onto the counter, you stifle a small yawn. Before the sun had set, you wore yourself out in the nearby park. The dewy spring day was perfect for soccer practice and games of tag. Methodical thumps coming from the living room catch your attention. As you wander into the larger room, you spy the source of the noise. 

“James, I said _one_ movie,” you playfully groan as you go to kneel beside the dirty blond boy, who is the spitting image of his father. 

The six-year-old gives you a cheeky smile before depositing a handful of DVDs into your arms and giggling, “You pick!” 

You feign a frazzled expression as you look through the choices he has given you. Mentally noting the one that always sends him right to sleep, you quickly hide them all behind your back and say, “Okay, I picked, it’s a surprise so go sit down.”

The boy rushes to the family-sized couch and covers his face as you pop the disc into the player. You grab the remote and skip past the previews, quickly pressing the play button as the home menu of the movie takes over the screen. Raising your arms over your head, you get a quick stretch in before climbing over James onto the couch. You settle with your side against the armrest and your legs resting along the crease where the cushions meet the back of the couch. James is at the edge of his seat, uncovering his face for the beginning of the movie and pleased with your choice. 

It’s not long until he has backed up to lean against your stomach, then he’s laying down with you, weary eyes trying to stay open. Eventually, the tired boy is turned towards you, curled up and grabbing onto your shirt as he sleeps. It’s no surprise he’s passed out within the first few scenes of the movie, worn-out from play with a stomach full of spaghetti. You pull the blanket off of the top of the couch, laying it out over your legs and the child pressed against you. 

The volume on the television is lowered and you glance down at the sleeping boy. He looks so much like his father it’s almost unsettling. You’ve seen pictures and heard stories about his mother, a strong-willed, British woman, Peggy Carter, who wore her short brunette hair in curls and always had on her signature red lip. James’ hair is not as blond as his fathers, and the longer it gets the more the ends curl up, his mother’s genes slipping through.

She had passed away due to complications after giving birth, a blood clot thrown during labor that reached her lungs two days later. Although she was surrounded by hospital staff, no one saw the signs and she passed away suddenly in her sleep. Poor little James is also named after a fallen comrade of his father, Sergeant James ‘Bucky’ Barnes. They had been childhood friends, then army buddies, until one tour in Afghanistan, where one went home on a plane, and the other in a box.

You are absentmindedly stroking the small boy’s soft cheek when you hear the unmistakable sound of a key turning in a lock and the front door swinging open. Scrunching your brow in confusion, you glance at the glowing clock on the bookcase. It reads only 9:16 pm, hours sooner than when you had expected the owner of the townhouse to come home. You shift to sit up, but James’ small hand tightens on your shirt and he curls closer to you, keeping you where you lay. 

The hall light flicks on and a large, handsome man fills the entry to the living room. He’s tugging loose a necktie and examining the scene in front of him. You give him a silent wave and bring your index finger to your lips to indicate that his son is fast asleep. A smile relaxes his seemingly tense face as he walks over to the couch and kneels beside you and James. 

“Steve? Why are you home so early?” you whisper once he’s close enough to hear it. 

He rests his hand over the head of his slumbering son before answering, voice equally quiet, “We didn’t click.”

You flash him a face, and softly counter, “It doesn’t seem like enough time to give Sharon from finance the chance to click with you.”

The large man shrugs his shoulders, says, “When you know, you know, it wouldn’t have worked out,” as he stands back up and scoops up the small boy in his heavily muscled arms. James almost takes your shirt with him, and you have to carefully pry his tiny fingers off of the fabric to get his grip loose. 

Finally free, you swing your legs over to rest your feet on the floor, standing with a groan. James nuzzles into his father’s broad chest, the exchange not bothering his dreaming in the slightest. With a loving smile, Steve swiftly carries his child up the stairs to put him to bed. You wander into the kitchen to grab two beers, something habitual that you and Steve do after James is down for the count. 

With a clink, you get the two bottle caps off and turn to see Steve enter the kitchen. You hold out a beer to the blond, and he gladly takes it, gulping down a swig a bit too quickly. “That bad, huh?” you ask, voice at a normal volume now.

He shakes his head and leans against the counter, “No, it’s just… Hard.”

“Dating?”

“Dating as a single parent.”

“Hm,” you take a sip of your beer as you sound your sympathy.

Steve shakes his head gently, mostly to himself, until he eyes the pot still soaking in the sink. He gives you a pointed look and an exasperated sigh.

Your mouth gapes and you say, “Don’t look at me like that, I watch your kid for free!” far too loudly, followed by a laugh.

He smirks lightheartedly at you, the alcohol and being home relaxing him. Downing the rest of his beer, he carefully rinses the bottle before recycling it, then gets started on scrubbing the pot you left behind. 

“Well,” you speak after the liquid in your bottle has gone, “as much as I enjoy watching you clean things, I should get going.”

He glances at you over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing as he responds, “(Y/N), it’s dark, wait a moment so I can walk you home.”

“I literally live ten steps away from your front door, you don’t have to do this every time Steve,” you smile, careful to not say no, so he’ll insist.

Scrubbing the pot faster now, he maintains his chivalry, “I’m almost done.”

While he finishes, you retrieve your coat and house keys from the hooks they were on in Steve’s entryway. After pulling the thick material on over your arms, you slip on your ankle boots, perfect for the still chilly spring night. Steve finally joins you, hastily putting on his coat as you open the door, so you won’t leave without him. You notice he has a slight blush from drinking his beer too fast, and you find yourself staring while he pulls on his shoes. Once he’s finished, he stands up straight, towering over you, and gives a quick nod to open the door all the way.

The cold air rushes in, and you shiver as you tighten your coat around your torso, stepping down the stone stairs and onto the New York sidewalk. Steve follows right behind, shutting the door securely behind him. You stop for a moment and look up at the trees that grace every fourth section of the sidewalk. The leaves had just come in, and even with the dim, yellowed streetlights, you can see the beginnings of blossoms. 

A hand presses against your lower back, urging you forward and pulling you away from your thoughts. You look up at the man walking beside you, and he gives you a quick smile down towards you, cheeks even pinker from the bitter wind. All too quickly you reach your own set of stairs to your carbon copy of Steve’s townhouse. 

You walk up the steps, finally at a height above Steve as he waits on the sidewalk. As you work on your locks, Steve clears his throat and you turn back to look at him, fingers already turning the handle.

“Thank you so much, (Y/N), I owe you one,” he voices, hands shoved in his pockets and his shoulders up high to help his coat cover his bare neck from the wind. 

You grin as you reply, “Oh, you owe me a lot of ones.”

He chuckles and nods a farewell; you wave as he walks back over to his home.


	2. Summer

Once the summer sun settles into the New York skyline, the sunglasses come off. You, Steve, and James have been in the boys’ narrow, townhouse backyard all afternoon, soaking up the rays. Steve graciously filled James’ wading pool, and you were invited over for some good ol’ American barbeque before the Fourth of July fireworks. 

Steve finally finishes scrubbing down his beloved grill and collapses next to you on his porch swing. It creaks in complaint at the new weight and you laugh a bit as the man frowns. There’s a spot of charcoal smeared across his face that catches your eye.

“You’ve got something on your cheek,” you speak as you pull the damp towel from your pool adventures with James off your lap. You hold the side of his face to steady his head as you wipe the ash off of his golden skin. He tans so well in the summer and it makes him all the more handsome and godlike. James crashes through the back door, breaking your concentration and rushes to his father. Steve moves his face out of your hands to greet his son, beaming at how excited he is. 

“When do they start?” the small boy asks, voice high with eagerness, glancing over his shoulder towards the river where the fireworks will be displayed. 

Steve tilts his wrist to check the time on his watch before he answers, “Soon bud, but I’ve got something for you in the meantime.”

The boy’s face lights up as Steve produces a small box of poppers, as real fireworks were not allowed in New York City. James takes one of them out and squeezes it between his fingers, shocked when it pops, his little face watching in wonderment. 

“You throw them at things,” you offer with a smile, Steve immediately _tsk_ -ing you with a click of his tongue. Before you can correct yourself, the six-year-old is throwing the poppers at everything he can, the ground, walls, fence, wading pool, grill, potted plants, and finally at your feet. You quickly tuck your bare feet under yourself, giving him a stern, yet silly frown.

He quickly runs out of the faux fireworks, and goes back up to his dad, puppy eyes ever so present. “Daddy,” he says, purposefully making his voice seem more infantile, “there’s no more.”

“Well, now it’s the fun part,” Steve responds with a sparkle in his eye, “you get to go around the yard picking up the mess you made.”

James puff out his lower lip, small forehead scrunching in displeasure. “It’s too dark to clean up!” he declares.

“Then that means it’s almost time for fireworks,” you tell the boy as you open your arms for him to join you and his father on the swing. He climbs on with your help, his frustration melting away as he settles in your lap. Steve stretches his arms before placing one on the armrest and the other behind you, fingertips brushing your shoulder. Once the boys are situated, the fireworks show begins, right on time. 

It feels like James is only in your lap for a moment until he wiggles out. Steve raises an eyebrow at him and asks, “Where are you going?”

“I can’t _see_ them,” the boy responds, exacerbated, “the view from my room will be so much better!”

“No, stay with us Ja- and he’s gone,” Steve sighs, his child already inside and racing up the stairs for a better outlook.

You offer Steve a small smile as you say, “You know he’ll be back in a minute, he hates being alone.”

The man nods and strains his neck to see if he can spot his son in the window. The fireworks are filling the sky with beautiful blues, reds and flashes of bright whites. The colors projecting onto Steve’s face as he gives up and rests his back against the swing, arm still behind your shoulders. You lean your head back to rest against the crook of his elbow, staring up at the show. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see he’s looking at you, opening his mouth to say something. Before he can, James come tumbling down the stairs and back into the yard. He climbs into his father’s lap mumbling about being lonely up there. James shifts around, completely ignoring the fireworks show until he moves over to your lap. Looking a little hurt, Steve scoots closer to you two to feel more included.

As the fireworks show comes to an end, you can feel the small head lulling to sleep against your chest. The finale explodes in the sky, lighting it up for one last moment, then the night becomes dark once again. 

You mouth _‘is he sleeping?’_ to the man beside you. 

He tilts his head forward to glance at the boy and nods, saying, “He’s out like a light.”

“Like a firecracker,” you smirk, keeping your voice at a lower volume.

A short chuckle escapes from his lips as he nods, “You know what he said to me other day?”

“What?”

“I asked him why he doesn’t like sitting with me anymore, and he said, ‘you’re not soft like (Y/N)’”

“Ah, the consequences of having rock solid abs,” you stifle a giggle when you feel the boy move in your lap, “Someone’s waking up.”

“It’s past his bedtime anyways,” Steve says, getting up with a grunt and bundling up James in his arms.

You watch the blond take his son back inside and as soon as he’s out of sight, you run over to your backyard. Thankfully, there was a gate installed in the fence between your townhouses that you rush through and go inside. Once you reach the kitchen, you throw the refrigerator door open and retrieve a small box. Carefully, you speed back to sit on the outdoor swing before Steve comes back out.

You’re panting a little when he emerges and sits back down in his spot, his arm returning behind your shoulders and asking, “What’s this?”

“Happy birthday,” you say softly, handing him the box with a smile.

He’s grinning at the fact that you remember, and he flips open the lid to reveal a simple cupcake from his favorite bakery, “This is great, (Y/N), thank you so much.”

“Don’t feel bad eating it in front of me, I had like three for breakfast.”

With a laugh he takes a bite out of his birthday cupcake, groaning with a pleasure he usually doesn’t give into and saying with his mouth still full, “Oh my god, it’s so good.”

“I’m glad, I had to go super early this morning, like when they first opened.”

“Worth it.”

“Yeah, you are.”


	3. Autumn

The speedometer is showing a number way above the speed limit, but your foot is still pushing the accelerator to the ground. Quiet groans of pain echo in your car, coming from your backseat. You glance in your rearview mirror to check on James. He is laying down, curled up, and holding his abdomen, face pale, and in a lot of pain. Your chest aches every time you hear him cry out, and all you can say is that you’ll be there soon.

You’ve been following the signs to the hospital for a couple of miles now, and you breathe a sigh of relief when the huge building comes into view. Catching sight of the emergency room entrance, you pull right up to the curb, startling some nurses on their break as your tires scream against the pavement. You leave the car running as you rip your seatbelt off and swing open your door. 

“Go get help, I think his appendix ruptured,” you yell at the nurses as you open the backdoor. Gingerly you pick up the shaking boy, holding him closely to your chest as he begins to sob from the pain. 

Before you even make it three steps into the sliding entrance doors, the nurses are rushing back over to you with the ER doctor in tow. Her name tag reads Dr. Cho, and her eyes are gleaming with recognition of James’ illness as you set him down softly on the gurney she pushed over. His small hand is shaking over the spot on the right side of his stomach that is radiating pain through him. 

“What’s his name, miss?” the doctor asks, and you answer quickly before she continues, “I heard you say appendicitis, what other symptoms does he have?”

“I had to pick him up from school because he was throwing up, I think he’s getting a fever, and his stomach is swollen compared to usual. He has exercise-induced asthma and he’s allergic to bees, but that’s it,” you list, speaking as fast as possible, and surprising yourself at the knowledge you’ve picked up from living next door to him and his father.

One of the nurses writes down everything you say and Dr. Cho nods in agreement at your diagnosis, “Okay, nurse? Let’s take him in for an ultrasound, then I think operating room three is open today.” The nurse nods and takes over the steering of the gurney, heading towards the large doors that specifically say _‘Authorized Personnel Only’_. You walk alongside the medical crew, clutching onto James’ hand. The doctor pushes open the doors then gives you a sympathetic smile.

“He’ll be okay, the front desk will need you to give more information, but I have to take him now.” Nodding, you bite your lip and stroke his hair before releasing his hand. To your surprise, Dr. Cho replaces your hand with hers as the team disappear behind the doors.

Whipping out your phone, you call Steve for the fifth time, only able to catch his voicemail. He must be in meetings all day, as his receptionist isn’t even to patch you through. You leave a voicemail with more information about what’s happening with his son before you go to move your car. You only just notice how much your heart is beating, and how your hands are shaking, when you close the car door behind you and put your hands on the steering wheel. You hastily wipe away a few stray tears as you park your car and head back inside to begin the paperwork.

Two stressful hours of you sitting in the waiting room alone pass by. Your leg is bouncing, and your fingers are absentmindedly unravelling one of your jacket drawstrings. The sliding doors whoosh open, and you twist expectantly as you have done every time they have opened. You sigh in relief as you see Steve looking wildly around until he locks eyes with you and strides over. You stand to greet him, and he immediately takes your hands into his huge ones. 

“Is he okay?” are the first words uttered out of his mouth, followed quickly by, “Are you okay?” after he notices the puffy, red bags under your eyes, and lower lip chapped from biting.

You nod as you answer, “He’s fine, he’s out of surgery, but they won’t let me in to see him because I’m not related.”

“That’s bullshit.” 

Hearing the curse word come from his lips feels wrong to you and you can’t help but laugh a little from pent-up stress. He smiles warmly at you as he lets go of your hands. His touch is replaced by an arm roped loosely around your lower back before leading you to the front desk. He is allowed the room information and you are finally led to James, who is in the recovery wing. 

Your eyes well up at the sight of him attached to all this machinery and looking quite pale. Steve moves ahead of you to kneel beside his child’s hospital bed. He envelopes James in as gentle of a hug as possible and peppers his face with kisses. 

Weakly, the boy laughs and says, “Dad, stop!”

Completely ignoring his request, Steve apologizes profusely and pesters him with questions about how he’s feeling. As the father and son talk, you stand at the end of the bed, smiling and trying your best not to cry out of relief.

Dr. Cho eyes you from the hallway and comes in, an apologetic look gracing her face just as one is on Steve’s, “I’m so sorry we couldn’t let you in, sometimes hospital policies do more harm than good.”

“It’s fine, I understand, I’m just glad he’s okay,” you respond, not taking your eyes off of the little patient who barely takes up any room on his medical bed. 

Raising her voice enough for Steve to hear as well, the doctor adds, “He was so brave, and you brought him in just in the nick of time, I fear that any longer his appendix would have ruptured.”

“Oh,” you face her, a surprised gleam in your eye, “It hadn’t already?”

“No, like I said, the nick of time. This will make recovery a lot shorter and way faster. You have good instincts,” she offers with a smile before checking her watch, “My shift is almost over, but I’ll be here tomorrow morning to check on him.” Steve stands to thank her as he shakes her hand, nothing but gratefulness and respect exuding from him.

You feel a little out of place, and you take a step towards the doorway as you begin, “Hey, I think the visiting time is almost over, and I know they’ll probably kick me out, so I’m going to head out.”

Steve frowns and determination laces his voice as he speaks, “What? No, I’ll talk to them.”

“Please don’t go, (Y/N),” James murmurs, with big, sad eyes and you’re heart instantly melts.

“I don’t know if I have a choice, sweetheart,” you explain to the boy, not noticing Steve stepping closer to you until he puts his hand on your arm, trailing down until your hand is in his. 

“(Y/N), we both really want you to stay,” he says, voice low and eyes boring into yours.

You give in and squeeze Steve’s hand before releasing it to scoot a chair to James’ bedside. The boy is brimming with as much happiness as his recovering body can muster and his smile matches his father’s. Sitting with a stifled yawn, James continues to babble about his hospital adventures and shows Steve his brand-new wound. The man fakes a disgusted expression, then ruffles his son’s hair. You watch them with a tranquil sensation seeping into your tense muscles and mind. It’s the most relaxed you’ve felt all day, and you answer any questions James aims at you about the hospital.

Leaning back in the chair, a drowsy feeling washes over you. As uncomfortable as the hospital furniture is, you begin to nod off. You can hear Steve and James talking and the machinery beep, and you can feel the bright florescent lights burning against your eyelids, until you fall into a heavier sleep.

When you wake up again, the main light is off, but there’s a glow from some of James’ monitors and the blinds to the hallway. You’ve been laid down, and you’re on something rough. You run your hand over the material underneath you and decide it’s a cot they put in patient rooms for loved ones to stay the night. There’s rustling coming from above you, and you turn just in time to see Steve’s figure rest a blanket over your body. 

He registers your movement and whispers, “Sorry, did I wake you?”

Sitting up, you rub your eyes, his question clearly being answered you counter, “Where did you get all of this?”

“I asked a nurse.”

“Where are you going to sleep?”

“On the chair.”

You scoff, “Don’t be silly, you’re huge. You’ll be so uncomfortable, I’ll sleep on the chair.”

As you begin to lift yourself off the cot, steady hands on your hip and stomach stop you, “Don’t move an inch, (Y/N), remember, I owe you one?”

“Lots of ones,” you correct and brush your fingers against the hand he has resting on your stomach. A bit annoyed that your sleep was disturbed, you quickly come up with a solution, “We’ll never stop arguing about who’s going to get what, so just lay down with me.”

“W-What?” he stutters, your brazen offer shocking the man.

“We’ve fallen asleep together on the couch countless times, please Steve, I’m really tired,” you say, and he silently, but finally agrees. The stretched fabric tightens underneath you as he lays down next to you. Lowering yourself back down, you turn to face him, his hand still on your hip and your legs are pressed together. The parts of his face that are illuminated look nervous, but there’s an unmistakable glimmer in his baby blue eyes.

His hand leaves your body to pull the blanket up, and you’re disappointed when he doesn’t put it back. Now that you’re settled, the tiredness hits you like a brick wall, and you can already feel yourself being pulled back into your dreams. On the verge of sleep, you feel warm fingers brush some hair out of your face and a deep, familiar voice whisper, “What would we do without you?”


	4. Winter

The house is a mess. It feels like every single item in the kitchen is used and dirty, and the spread of food in the small dining room has been picked over almost completely. Presents and cheap decorations are taking up most of the living room. Although Steve thought he put away the last of the Christmas decorations, he keeps finding ornaments that rolled underneath gaps in the furniture. He has to keep himself from looking too closely at the floors of the entryway and halls because they are covered in quickly melting slush and dirt. 

The children are outside, playing in the dusting of snow that appeared last night. You can hear them screaming with joy and the periodic _thunk_ of a snowball hitting the window as you finish icing the cake. Natasha Romanov, one of Steve’s old army buddies, is perched on the kitchen counter next to you, licking the leftover frosting from a wooden spoon. She doesn’t have any children of her own, but is the resident ‘Aunt Nat’ to the kids present. James adores her, and was so excited when she flew in from Washington DC for his birthday party. 

Steve is currently clearing off the dining room table as Pepper Stark tries to help him. Her husband, and business partner of Steve’s, Tony Stark, refuses to let her pick up anything as she just reached the eight-month mark of her pregnancy with their first child. She keeps asking Steve for advice, since they knew James as an infant and he was such a well-behaved baby. He tells her it was half good luck and half lots of love. Tony says his baby is going to be a hell-raiser, so why even bother asking.

Clint Barton is a friend of Steve’s from college, and is outside burying two of his three children, Cooper and Lila, in the snow. His wife, Laura, is in the living room, nursing their youngest, six-week-old Nathaniel. Sam Wilson is outside as well, with his own child, Mia, who is in the same class as James. His wife passed away a few years ago, and although Steve and Peggy were never married, a deep connection and friendship was formed between the men, and subsequently, their children.

As you put the finishing touches of icing on, and start to put in the candles, Natasha talks about her newest love interest: a sweet, shy scientist that beat the crap out of someone for putting his hands on the woman without her permission. 

“I don’t know Nat, sounds kind of scary,” you voice as you lick a bit of icing off the back of your hand

She scoffs and hops off of the counter, “Well what about you then? Meet anyone?”

A short laugh escapes your lips, saying more than enough. After you place the seventh and last candle, you gesture towards the cake asking, “Does it look okay?”

“Mhm,” she answers, trying to sneak another dab of frosting before you swat playfully at her hand. She raises her arms in defeat, then slowly picks up the cake to take it to the now clear dining room table. 

An icy breeze sweeps into the room as the back door opens. Sam strides in with Mia thrown over his shoulder, the girl giggling as she kicks her legs. Clint ushers in the other three children before quickly closing the door behind him, letting out an exaggerated _brrr_. They work to get off their snow gear, their little faces flush and noses red from the cold. 

“It’s time to blow out the candles!” Steve announces to the crowd of kids, all of them yelling in excitement and the three fathers herd them into the dining room. Steve picks up his son and seats him in the chair that the cake is directly in front of. As she tosses the lighter to the man, Natasha winks at the birthday boy. Everyone crowds around the table, the children almost vibrating with anticipation of cake while Steve lights the seven candles.

Tony reaches behind his wife to dim the lights of the dining room, leaving the candles to fill the room with a warm glow. Mia, who sits herself right next to James begins singing _Happy Birthday_ and everyone follows suite, all eyes on the new seven-year-old. At the end, Steve squats down to James and says, “Make a wish, buddy.”

“I wish (Y/N) was my mom.”

The room immediately goes silent, the kids looking to their parents in confusion as they feel the awkwardness grow. James, ignoring the feeling, happily blows out his candles, leaving the room dim. With a quick jab to her husband, Pepper ends the video she was taking on her phone and begins to clap. Tony complains under his breath as he flicks the light back on, and you see all eyes are on you. 

Coming out of your shock, you feel your heart drop and the muscles in your chest tighten. You push past Nat and Sam to leave the room, feeling tears already forming in the corners of your eyes. Racing up the stairs, Steve stands and calls your name. Natasha is swiftly at his side, taking the knife from him and announcing, “Okay, time to cut the cake!” This causes the children to cheer once again as she begins slicing into it, whispering harshly for Steve to follow you.

You go into James’ room, the only one you’ve been in frequently, and head straight for the window. Cracking it open to get some fresh air, you breathe deeply in an attempt to calm yourself down. Why was this making all these feelings swirl around your mind? You almost felt a little lightheaded. 

Once he’s at the top of the stairs, he looks around the rooms for a sign of you. Cold air is drifting out of his son’s room, so the man walks in, slowly as to not startle you. You’re resting your palms on the windowsill, breathing slowly. He closes the door behind him, and the click of the knob makes you jump and spin around. 

Steve is quiet for a moment, figuring out what to say to you before he decides on, “Are you okay?”

You nod your head, but the tears streaming down your cheeks say differently. He is instantly standing before you, taking your hands in his as he’s done so many times before. You scoff a little and try to pull your hands away, but give up after a few useless tugs.

Exasperated, you cry, “What are we doing, Steve?”

“I… don’t know what you mean,” the man lies. 

You inhale sharply to keep from sobbing and answer, “Yes you do.”

He drops your hands and brings his palms to your cheeks, lifting your face so you have to stare into his serious, blue eyes while he speaks, “Fine, ever since you moved in next door, I haven’t felt alone and desperate. There’s a reason we’ve both only had a handful of dates in the past four years and that we spend all of our time together. I thought it was best to keep this unspoken thing to myself, and I’m sorry that James is the one brave enough to say it. I should have done it the moment I met you.”

It’s like an actual weight has been lifted off him as he confesses something that’s been tucked away for years. His face relaxes, his usually tense shoulders lower, and his fingers slip away from your face. All you can do is stare up at him, wide-eyed as he gives you a hopeful smile.

To his surprise, you wrap your arms securely around his neck and press your lips to his, having to stand up on your toes to reach him. He takes a step back at the sudden attachment, but quickly moves his hands to your waist, holding onto your body with a tight grip. It’s so familiar, like you’ve done it a thousand times. His full lips move heavenly against yours and it physically pains you to separate in order to breathe. 

The regret that he’s been missing out on moments like this for years is evident in his eyes as he says, “(Y/N), I was selfish. I was so afraid of James losing another mother if you didn’t feel the same way about me, then I was absolutely terrified at the thought of you not being in our lives at all if we didn’t work out.”

You can’t help but laugh at how misplaced his worries are as you express, “Isn’t it obvious I’m here for the long-run?”

“You’ve done so much for us, I don’t want you to feel burdened.”

“You and James are my family, I never feel burdened.”

The muscles in his shoulders stretch under your palms as he moves his arms around your midsection, bringing you into a tight embrace. His lips find yours once again to make up for lost time. Everything feels as though it has fallen right into place while you’re in his arms. Although James’ party was still going on downstairs, you two decide to spend a few more moments alone to fulfill his birthday wish.


	5. Epilogue

The first rays of morning peek through your blinds, basking over the bare skin of your husband’s back. You run your fingers down the streams of light on his muscular torso. The diamond on your left hand refracts the sunlight, making it dance around the room. He stirs under your touch, lifting his head once he’s fully awake. Blinking his groggy, blue eyes a couple of times, he gives you a smile and murmurs, “Good morning.” 

“Morning,” you reply as you move your hand up to brush some golden strands of hair away from his face.

He looks around, confusion replacing the sleepy expression he had. Sitting up, he asks with a hint of hopefulness in his voice, “Did she finally sleep through the night?”

A grin spread across your lips as you nod, “She’s still asleep.”

“Huh, maybe we should wake her up, she’s probably hungry.”

“Steve, let her be,” you chastise, knowing that he’s only saying this because his daughter, your daughter, is growing up too quickly, just as your son is. Your beautiful, healthy baby girl, Sarah, is named after Steve’s late mother. She is three months old, and adored by her parents and older brother, who is now nine.

Ignoring you, Steve gets out of bed and disappears from your shared room. With a sigh, you sit up and run your fingers through your hair, in attempt to reduce the bedhead. Even though you got a good night’s sleep, it still felt way too early to be awake. 

Your husband returns, walking cautiously as he is carrying precious cargo. Sarah looks tiny curled up against his massive, bare chest. Before he can reach the bed, the baby starts to fuss, making him stop mid-step. You’re so thankful that he is great with children, watching with a smile as he bounces her. However, the regret on his face is clear as she begins to wail from being woken. He lifts her from his chest and holds her up, the sun catching her wisps of golden blonde hair, just like her father’s. Her eyes are shut tight and her little face is scrunched up as she shrieks from the separation. 

“Shhhh,” Steve soothes as he brings her back to his chest, his hands holding her securely against him.

“Poor baby needed more sleep,” you say with little sympathy for the man who woke her.

A figure appears in your doorway and a tired voice says, “ _I_ needed more sleep too.”

“Sorry, bud,” Steve apologizes to his son, who walks up to him with his arms outstretched for his sister. Steve may be good with children, but James is a baby whisperer. The man carefully hands Sarah over to the boy, who embraces her securely as he climbs onto your bed. He crosses his legs and lays his sister in his lap. The crying has subsided, but her lower lip quivers, staring up at her brother with big eyes that match your color and shape. He places a hand on her plump stomach and hums a lullaby.

James has grown so much in the past two and a half years, gaining almost a foot of height and outgrowing all of his clothes rapidly. His hair has darkened to a light brown, and curls more than ever. He still looks so much like Steve it’s jarring, as the new baby looks more like you. While you were pregnant, James was overly protective of you, and stepped right into his role as big brother as soon as Sarah was born. 

Steve joins the rest of his family on the bed, resting his back against the headboard and finding your hand to hold. Sarah’s cries are replaced with coos as James hums to her and your heart feels so full it almost aches. You close your eyes and feel Steve’s thumb brush against the back of your hand and James lean back against your legs. You hear the boy’s lullaby matched with the sounds of a happy baby. The early beams of sun soak into your skin and you realize that you have never felt happier than this moment, sitting with your family and everything you love so close to you.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! All comments, kudos, and bookmarks mean the world to me!  
> This is a gift for a frequent commenter Patoelcerdito. With whatever fic I'm currently working on, I recognize and appreciate my frequent commenters by doing requests!  
> Love you all, xoxo  
> gossip girl


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